


sweater weather

by PsychicBananaSplit



Series: after klaus got out of the mausoleum [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben likes to Paint, Boys In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't Ask, Fluff, Heartbeats, M/M, Painting, Peace, Protectiveness, Sweaters, for once, stolen socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicBananaSplit/pseuds/PsychicBananaSplit
Summary: they both missed moments like these. before the apocalypse, before vietnam, before klaus's drug addiction, before ben died, just, before. before before. when they still had some semblance of a kid within them.





	sweater weather

**Author's Note:**

> i went missing for a few days, but i'm back! i tried to write good fluff stuff this time.

It had been a lazy day.

Luther was in his room with mini-Luther, spending some quality time with their past selves. Allison was hanging out with future-past?-grown up Vanya, teaching her sign language in return of the violinist teaching her how to play the violin. The mindless screeching disturbed the serene silence, but eventually, they all had begun to hear a choppy ‘Hot Crossed Buns’ from the living room. The Diegos were doing hell knows what, the Fives were staying  _ far away  _ from each other. They didn’t know what the rest were doing, though; probably training (with little Vanya this time). They knew for certain that Pogo was in the office with Reginald, discussing whatever it was they discuss in private. 

The older Ben and Klaus, however, have decided to stay in the house for a change. Ever since they went back in time, to the 90’s, and since Ben was suddenly solid, in a not-quite-dead-but-not-living-either state, they were both taking time to do things Ben wasn’t able to do while alive. Like go on actual dates, not sneaking behind pillars and kissing briefly before missions, or during training. And spending less time being pissed at one another. Like when Ben just wouldn’t  _ leave him the fuck alone,  _ or when Klaus would sell his body for money, and they would fight. 

Truth be told, as much as he was fueled by social interaction, Klaus preferred small moments with Ben. Even Dave. He liked to be closely held in the warmth of a person, snuggling, cuddling and fluff galore. While Ben was the first person he loved-at least, what he thought was love at the time-Dave had been the one person in his entire life that fully believed in him, the one person that returned his feelings with the same amount of passion and vigor that he had. The one person that made him feel as if he wasn’t alone. To be fair, he didn’t know who Klaus was before Vietnam. The person that made him feel a sense of home, whereas Ben was always there, and at the same time, not  _ there.  _

On the flip-side, Klaus never realized that Ben had felt everything that he did. Passion, vigor. The desperate feeling of not being able to say what he needs to say, the feeling of being completely and utterly alone. Only inseparable to the one person that he could speak to, yet never being heard in the slightest. Dying at seventeen took a serious chunk out of his sanity. His trust was shattered. And, what tortured him even more, was that only three people knew the truth about that day; Luther, Diego, and himself. It said a lot that even through all of the dips in the ride, Ben stayed with Klaus on the roller coaster.

Pushing all that aside, they were spending time together. Quiet, peaceful, timeless times of enjoying their companies. 

Ben was lying on the bed of the room that Klaus and he had once shared. Or, were sharing? Never mind. He had been practicing his solidness, and changed his clothes to a comfortable blue sweater and some black skinny jeans, recently bought. Since the time jump, they all have been hesitant to interact with people from the past, until Pogo brought up that they obviously needed new clothes. 

Klaus was dressed in a similar fashion, with a deep emerald sweater that was much to large for him, but was also wearing his familiar leather skinny jeans and bright pink socks. No one would ever know that the socks had been stolen from past Klaus’s room.  _ No one would ever know, I swear it. Hahaha.  _

The clairvoyant’s head was resting right over Ben’s heart. The beating was soothing. Healing. It, with the steady pattering of drizzle on the windowpane and the mournful violin from downstairs, made the scenery seem to be in a pensive mood. 

The beating of Ben’s heart also reminded him that he wasn’t dead. Not really, anyway. He was sort of in between. It was difficult. And weird. But, when was anything ever  _ normal  _ with the Hargreeves’ family?

Klaus snuggled farther into the warmth of Ben’s embrace, grasping his arms tighter around his waist. The hand on his shoulder drew fiery patterns on his icy skin. You’d think, being dead and all, Ben would barely have any body heat. But, fortunately, that was not the case. Blueish grayish greenish hues swam through the dark coloured curtains and lit his face in the most beautiful, haunting way. Inky black hair poured on the pillow like a lake, and his eyes were half-shut in the moment of tranquility. 

For once, They seemed to be at rest. Now, at least. It was always hard to tell, with Them. One moment, They would want to whip out and tear someone in half, beat them to a bloody pulp. And the next, They would be still, with the occasional ripple beneath his stomach bound to happen. However, They weren’t as restless. 

Ben’s fingers were woven into Klaus’s ratty hair. It needed cleaned. And it hadn’t been cut since he traveled back to the war. Tangles and knots were soothingly undone by the painter’s delicate hands. When Klaus definitely knew, for sure, that he was in love (love?) with Ben was when he accidentally walked in on him creating one of his works, or, rather, painting their walls an elaborate abstract pattern. In just the 12:00 to 12:30 on that Saturday afternoon, they had flung, thrown, poured, slathered enough paint on the walls to make Dad turn as red as a brick when he found out. Right after they got a strict told to, they held each other’s faces with their art covered hands and kissed, messily, teeth clacking and noses rubbing together in inexperience. 

The next day, Dad had painted over it with white. What a shame, too. 

Whatever colour it was, whatever colour it wasn’t, however long it took to make or how little, shape, size, type, whatever piece of art Ben made in his spare time, no matter what, it was always beautiful. Paintings to poetry to small, intricate doodles in the inside of his notebooks and on his skin. Shy, timid Ben could only communicate through means that Klaus only about half understood, but he loved him for it. Though, the seven of them were never really that good with emotions to begin with. 

They eventually dozed off, Klaus’s head and hand on Ben’s heart, Ben’s hand cradling the back of Klaus’s neck, halfway carding through his charcoal mop. Vanya and Allison had jogged up the stairs to wake them up, but decided against it and shut the creaky door as quietly as they could. 

The newfound heartbeat of Ben, Klaus’s heartbeat and Their pulsing synchronized in a constant state of  _ badum, badum, badum.  _ Each one in a perfect metronome, that said three specific words that were so, so powerful. More powerful than either of them. 

Each and every pulse together said  _ I Love You,  _ in the purest form imaginable. 

 


End file.
